"A skull?" Jim says, mildly amused. Sebastian is watching the video on the pet's site. "I wonder what your skull would look like on my wall," the Irishman purrs a moment later. A tear rolls down Sebastian's tear-stained face.
It's only six hours after the fall, yet it feels like it's only been six minutes. Jim's dead; there's nothing Sebastian can do about it. The body had already been collected by the time he'd gotten up to the roof, about half an hour after Sherlock threw himself from the roof at St. Bart's. Jim's body was replaced by a letter left by Driver, another close employee of his boss. It was Jim's handwriting on the envelope, and, presumably, the letter inside.
Sebastian couldn't bring himself to open the letter even now, six hours later. Oh, he wanted to, but he couldn't. His hands didn't want to move, his fingers didn't want to open the expensive paper that made up the envelope. Sheer willpower alone wasn't going to cut it. Every so often, Sebastian's eyes would dart to the envelope leaning on the monitor, then go back to whatever he was doing on the computer.
He had to do it. He had to see what was in the envelope. The suspense was starting to wear on his emotionally-compromised mind. Sebastian snatched the letter from its place on the desk. Nimble fingers carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the letter.
More of Jim's handwriting appeared when Sebastian unfolded more of the expensive stationary. He began reading to himself, lips moving as he read the words.
My dearest Sebastian,
I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry I left you. It must be killing you inside.
But, as you know, it had to be done. Sherlock Holmes got too big; he needed to come crashing down. He had to be convinced to take the fall. My death was his incentive. He is me, and I am him; he knew that if I had to die, then he had to die as well. That and I was the only person with the code to call you, Driver, and Kipling off.
I need you to let me go. I need you to listen to Jay. Protect her, and, no matter what, do not stop. Do not listen to her when she tries to fire you. We both know that she will.
I know you're already emotionally compromised. Let me go, Sebastian, and stay the greatest sniper in the world.
Not matter how much you love me, or miss me, I need you to do this one thing. For me.
Be safe. Stay alive. Keep Jay alive.
Love, Jim.
Sebastian nods. "Okay, Jim. I trust you."
He buries his face in his hands. "Oh, god. Look at me; I'm talking to the dead."
Something needed to be done. A crime, a shooting, something to get his blood pumping and his mind off the death.
Sebastian grabs a tissue and dries his face before standing up.